


beauty

by peggycarterisacat



Series: Rarepairs Week 2018 [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, alt Winterfell restoration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 00:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15108119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peggycarterisacat/pseuds/peggycarterisacat
Summary: Brienne paused. Perhaps she shouldn't say it, but the word felt so wrong. "Please don't call me Lady," she asked."You are a lady just as you are a knight," Lady Sansa said."I am neither."Lady Sansa looked at her for a long moment. "Very well," she said eventually. "You would not be the first to refuse either title. What shall I call you?""Just Brienne, if you please.""Not in front of my court. Titles have meaning — I won't have anyone thinking I disrespect you."





	beauty

**Author's Note:**

> for rarepairs week on tumblr. day six prompt: "I wouldn't change a thing about you."
> 
> (I'm a few minutes late but oh well it's still Friday somewhere)

"They'll try to get rid of me as soon as the war is done," Lady Sansa worried, pacing before her window. "For now, it is convenient to them that I rule —  _ someone _ must, to supply their armies at the very least. But to them I am still more Lannister than Stark." She looked up at Brienne, and she looked so very like Lady Catelyn in the torchlight. The clear blue of her eyes, the determined set of her jaw. "But I must hold — there should always be a Stark in Winterfell, and Bran— I must believe he is out there. Alive."

Somehow, Brienne had become a confidante of sorts to Lady Sansa. It was only because she had once filled that role for Lady Catelyn, she assumed. Weeks ago, when there was a brief lull in the madness, they sat down together and Brienne told of their travels during the war. She didn't mention the shade her lady had become after death. There was no use in the knowledge, only whispers of a monster that once plagued the Riverlands. It was kinder not to say.

Lady Sansa had reason to hold out hope for her brother, no matter that it was slight — on their journey north, they met the half-maester Samwell and his companion, who claimed to have seen him. Theon Greyjoy said much the same — the claims of his death false. But it was so long since any of that happened, and north of the Wall...

"They think I'm a fool for holding out hope. Or, at worst, they think I'm clawing at his memory for a chance at power," Lady Sansa said. "Riding in behind an army of foreign knights to snatch this place out from under them. But this is my home — I've dreamed of returning for years. I am no thief." She took one more step and stopped pacing. "And I won't be returning to the Vale with Harry once this is all done. Have I surprised you?"

Brienne shook her head. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it was easy to miss her spine amongst her courtesies. But for all their differences, Lady Sansa was just as tenacious as her mother once was.

She smiled just slightly, softening the worried lines on her face. "I am glad we understand each other," she said. "Now we only have to survive the winter and this war, and somehow prove our worth by the time the lords return. The North will be weakened by the time it is done, and that is all the more reason we must stand together." Her smile turned crooked and wry. "But they see me as weak. A woman with no husband or armies to call my own. I am no warrior or battle commander."

But Brienne never knew what to say when Lady Sansa spoke like this. Brienne was no politician or diplomat; any counsel she could give was more likely to hurt than help. "You need not be a warrior," Brienne said.  _ A woman's courage, _ she once said to Lady Catelyn. "There is more than one kind of strength. You are one who builds, not breaks. You have seen the horrors of the world, yet you endeavor to be kind. You have been mistreated, and you have determined that no one else should have to carry the same pains. You have not let it harden your heart. That is a thing that very few people can claim."

Lady Sansa gave a wry smile. "Many would call that weakness."

"Then many are not fit to rule."

She turned her face away, but she must know it was true. "I've never wanted to rule, but who else is there?" she asked. She looked back and lifted her chin to meet Brienne's eyes. "Lady Brienne," she said, "I would have you as captain of my guard, if you find that agreeable."

She always said  _ Lady Brienne. _ No one ever said that except to ridicule — callous men playing their games, long ago. Jaime Lannister had said it cuttingly when they first met, and so many lords and knights she'd met since had said it, making a weak attempt at concealing their amusement or disdain.

Lady Sansa meant it kindly, Brienne thought, but she still hated the words every time they rang through these halls. She held to her courtesies more tightly than her mother ever had — Lady Catelyn never said  _ Lady Brienne.  _ She was kind, cordial, charming, but always sought to reinforce that distance.

It was no matter. Brienne would serve — she had pledged to, on her honor and on Jaime's. It was the only oath she truly kept, despite the name of her sword. When faced with the choice between protecting Lady Sansa and avenging Renly, she let Stannis slip away, no matter that it rent her heart in two. In the end, that was no matter either — Stannis had fallen against the legion of dead, and in a roundabout way she had a shred of satisfaction.

"I have already pledged myself to you, my lady," Brienne said. "But I must advise— it would weaken your position. Many will see it as an insult."

"Many would see anything I do as an insult," she countered. "I won't give the position to someone I mistrust just to appease them. No— We have the smallfolk's loyalty, and there is much we can do with that." Lady Sansa was the one who brought food and supplies north, and she'd already opened Winterfell's gates to shelter much of the town. "I know you have started to train some of them in sword and spear — you will continue to do so for any of them who wish it. Man or woman, boy or girl. The outer wall is near finished — security is what we need right now. If we must, we can hold the castle with even a small garrison." She looked out the window again. It was twilight already, the daylight hours had grown so short. "And I must work out how to keep us all warm and fed."

"You will," Brienne said softly.

"Thank you, Lady Brienne," she said, just as softly.

Brienne paused. Perhaps she shouldn't say it, but the word felt so wrong. "Please don't call me Lady," she asked.

"You are a lady just as you are a knight," Lady Sansa said.

"I am neither."

Lady Sansa looked at her for a long moment. "Very well," she said eventually. "You would not be the first to refuse either title. What shall I call you?"

"Just Brienne, if you please."

"Not in front of my court. Titles have meaning — I won't have anyone thinking I disrespect you."

"Captain, then, if you must."

She nodded. "Then I am only Sansa to you." Brienne opened her mouth to protest— "When we are out of company, at least."

That, Brienne could agree to, though she still felt some apprehension.

* * *

 

The winter and the war stretched on, and they rebuilt.

Lady Sansa worked to endear herself to her people — praising their work and listening to their woes, and, as her father did before her, inviting them to share her table. She settled disputes and saw justice done, when it was needed, and often stayed up late into the night writing letters and settling accounts. They did not yet have a maester, so that work fell to her.

"I've never been able to make sense of this," she lamented, slapping the flat of her hand on the cover of the thickly bound ledger. Even that she did gently, making only a soft thump.

Sums had never much troubled Brienne, so they spent many evenings together, Brienne reviewing the accounting and trying to find places they could squeeze more from less, and Sansa writing and rewriting letters to perfection. Now, they had little to offer anyone. But she had connections to all manner of Southern lords, banking on friendship and promises come Spring. To others, to the skeptics, she wrote of the horrors of the war, recording the words of the wounded that found their way to Winterfell's gates. Younger sons who came north with a thirst for glory, Night's Watchmen with years of horrors to tell, and common folk and wildlings alike.

And Lady Sansa was once Littlefinger's protégé — for all the man's faults, he had the ability to make money appear from nowhere. She wheedled that reputation and the Stark name to get credit — importing glass from Essos to rebuild Winterfell's glass gardens, and food from the South to last them through the winter. Ahead lay many years of tight finances and hard work, but they both breathed easier when those plans fell into place.

"We will endure," Sansa said, looking over the castle from the highest window in the keep. "We all have survived worse."

But as the days wore on and the lines of battle stretched closer and closer to them, all grew grim and dark. One more wave of reinforcement came from the South just before they had to seal the gates — Lord Howland Reed and a company of crannog warriors.

He was an eerie man, but something in the manner of his speech was comforting — a certainty as unshakeable as the very foundations of the earth. "They're coming home," he said cryptically, and told Lady Sansa tales of her father's youth that left her with sad smiles painted on her lips. But every evening she asked him to tell another.

One night, after the castle had fallen asleep and Brienne sat up late with Lady Sansa, still working. She moved slowly, her eyes not quite focused on the papers in front of her and her pen hovering over the inkwell a moment too long every time.

"My lady?" Brienne quietly inquired, stirring her from her thoughts.

Sansa looked up. Tonight she looked brittle and weary and alone, dark shadows beneath her eyes and a mouth that had forgotten how to smile.

"Are memories and tales the only happy things left in this world?" she asked. She braced her elbows against the tabletop and put her face down into her hands. "This is my home, but I would tear it down myself if it meant I could have any of them back."

Brienne hesitantly reached out, not entirely certain what she was offering, and Sansa ended up curled against her side, hands trembling as she took deep, measured breaths. A lone wolf's howl cut through the night and sang its song to the moon, and was shortly joined by dozens more, weaving a strange, sad song through the night.

* * *

 

There was a girl standing in the training yard one morning, one Brienne didn't recognize. Skinny and dressed in boys clothes; dark hair that had once been cropped short and was now growing back in. She wore a skinny sword by her side, and that gave Brienne pause.

"How did you get in here?" she asked. She didn't reach for Oathkeeper yet, but she kept her eyes sharp for any hint of movement.

"This is my home," the girl said, turning. "I know how to get in."

A snarl came from Brienne's flank, and from the shadows a wolf the size of a pony approached, baring its teeth. Brienne backed away, loosening her sword in its sheath. Her eyes darted from the wolf to the girl — eyes the color of flint, and the same intense expression Lady Catelyn often wore. Brienne took a slow breath, heart pounding, and looked again. A long oval face, her brows and eyes the same shape as Sansa's, her mouth the same hard, determined line that her mother's had been in dark days.

"Lady Arya?" she asked.

She looked upon Brienne suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"Brienne of Tarth," she answered, releasing the hilt of her sword and lowering herself down to one knee. "Your mother charged me to find you and keep you safe, but I thought you were long lost."

"My mother is dead," Arya said coldly. Something died in her eyes as she said it. "I saw it. Why are you here?"

"I am now pledged to your sister, Lady Sansa."

"So she's here?" she said quietly, and turned as if to slink away. "I should go."

"Do you not want to go see her?" Brienne asked.

Her face faltered for just a moment, before slipping into a blank mask. "She won't want me."

"She does," Brienne said quickly. "More than anything, she does."

She wasn't convinced until Brienne brought her back to Lady Sansa's chambers, and she was at once enveloped in a tearful embrace.

"Thank the gods— thank the gods," Sansa kept whispering, and for weeks she didn't like to let her sister out of her sight.

And when the dead started to surround the castle, they started to see dragons circling high in the sky. But the one that alit in the courtyard one day did not carry the Dragon Queen. Lady Arya shrieked and raced fearlessly to greet it when it touched down; Lady Sansa followed with a bit more dignity to meet their brothers, Bran and Jon, both alive and well.

The dragons made a quick end to the war, but one that left the land scarred — the villages destroyed, and swathes of the Wolfswood burned to the ground. But those were only things, and they could rebuild come Spring.

Jon Snow, after a long conversation with Lord Reed, grew more sullen than ever, according to Sansa. Not even Arya could pry the reason from him, and he left shortly for the far North again. To ensure all the dead were truly routed, and to help the Wildling leaders, newly risen to lords by Bran's appointment, settle into their new holdfasts, he said.

The Dragon Queen, too, needed to return south to her throne, after she spoke with Lord Bran and his advisors — chiefly Sansa and the young Reeds.

All manner of lords and the remnants of their armies passed through, too, on their way back South to their homes. Before they all left, there would be a feast — not so lavish as it would be in a peaceful summer, but more of a luxury than most of them had seen in years. Food and drink and good company — they made their own entertainment. Lady Sansa herself played the harp and sang, and they discovered the talents among their guests. Some others were musically inclined, or at least thought they were after a few rounds of drink. The sort of boisterous rowdiness that filled men in disbelief that they were alive — a celebration of life.

Brienne stayed close by Sansa's side throughout the night. She was gracious and kind to all who approached her, and they were respectful in return, but it made Brienne uneasy. The energy in this crowd could change in an instant, becoming inappropriate for a lady to be around — already their jokes  skated the line of propriety, though Sansa humored each of them.

Until one knight's eyes fixated on Brienne and he made some joke about a beauty and a beast, a bear and a maiden fair.

It was nothing Brienne hadn't heard before, but it still stung — the people here had learned to look past her appearance and see her skills and strength instead. With so many men away at war or killed in battle, the women started to be seen for their work and their talents, keeping their civilization afloat. Brienne was prominent among them, and at times she even forgot her own ugliness for a few moments.

Sansa's smile grew fierce and her eyes went cold and sharp as steel. "I don't understand what you find funny," she said. "My lady Brienne is the most beautiful thing in this castle, and we neither of us are beasts. Can you explain it to me?"

The laughter died in his throat and he stuttered out an excuse. Brienne wanted nothing more than to retreat and hide her face but she should not leave Sansa here, alone. But when Sansa turned to look up at her, her eyes softened and she subtly rolled her shoulders to stretch them.

"I think it's time for me to retire for the night — will you come with me?"

Her chambers were tidy and, for the moment, spare. There was little room for frivolity these days, but the furniture was skillfully repaired and all the cloth in the room with some subtle decoration — embroidery, mismatched salvaged beads.

"Are you alright?" she asked, carefully taking Brienne's hands.

"I'm used to it, my lady," Brienne answered as tonelessly as she could. "You shouldn't have said what you did."

"No one should disrespect you," Sansa said. "And don't call me  _ lady. _ Not here."

"You called me lady," Brienne argued. "And you lied — even in my defense, don't. That— when people say  _ beauty _ to me, they mean the opposite. Don't. Please don't."

Sansa's mouth tightened at the corners. "If you wish me not to say it, I won't again. But it's not the title that makes a true knight, it is not beauty that makes a true lady, and it is not a pretty face that makes true beauty." She touched Brienne's cheek, fingers light as ghosts tracing over her scars. "You have it all."

"Don't lie to me," Brienne said, her voice coming out rough. "If I could be anything but what I am—" It was a stupid feeling. Weak. Something she should have pushed aside years ago.

"I wouldn't," Sansa said. "I wouldn't change a thing about you. A knight is strong and just and defends the defenseless. A lady is kind and gentle and loves her people. And beauty..." She paused a moment, and Brienne quickly looked away from what she saw in her eyes. "Beauty is like summer's warmth come to melt away the ice of a thousand cruelties. Beauty is a candle in the night which guides the heart to its home. Beauty is seeing another's face as the break of day that brings light and love to a lifetime of darkness."

"Most don't see it that way."

"Then most are idiots — blind to the best in people." She brought Brienne's hand to her mouth and kissed her knuckles. "I hope that some day, you will see it, too."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I'm on tumblr - [peggycarterisacat-fic](https://peggycarterisacat-fic.tumblr.com/) for fic updates, [peggycarterisacat](https://peggycarterisacat.tumblr.com/) for other fandom stuff.


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